Menopause Symptoms and How I Survived Them

I’ll never forget the moment I realized menopause had officially moved into my life, uninvited and completely unwelcome. I was 50 years old, sitting in my car in the school parking lot after a long day of teaching, drenched in sweat, shoes kicked off, and blouse clinging to my back like I’d just finished a bootcamp class. No, not a cute, hot-girl-summer glisten. I’m talking full-body, can't-sit-in-this-outfit-any-longer, swampy kind of sweat. I had fans blowing on me from every angle and I still felt like a microwaved burrito.

Let me back up.

I wasn’t a stranger to health and fitness. In fact, you could say I’d been a bit of a wellness warrior most of my adult life—certified trainer, aerobics instructor, Pilates before it was mainstream. I lived and breathed health. I understood how food and movement affected my body… or so I thought.

Then menopause rolled in like a hurricane.

At first, it was subtle. My period ghosted me for a month or two. Then it came back with a vengeance, as if to say, “Don’t forget about me yet!” Next came the mood swings, then the joint pain, then the swelling, then the weight gain. Thirty pounds, almost overnight. I hadn’t changed my habits. I was still working out daily, lifting, stretching, walking, eating clean. But nothing helped. I kept gaining weight. My body felt foreign.

My skin hurt from how tight my clothes had become. I had a meltdown in front of my closet more times than I care to admit. Nothing fit. And nothing made me feel like me. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the hot flashes started. Every hour, on the hour, my own personal internal volcano erupted. Whether I was standing in front of a classroom or trying to relax on the couch—BAM! A sudden heat wave, sweat pooling behind my knees, and a desperate scramble for a fan. I had fans stashed everywhere—my desk, my car, my kitchen counter. One student even asked if I was training for a wind tunnel competition.

And sleep? That sweet escape? Gone. I was up all night throwing covers off, pulling them back on, repeat. My poor husband just kept rolling over in confusion as I flopped like a fish on the deck of a hot boat.

But what frustrated me the most was how unseen I felt. When I finally caved and made an appointment with my doctor, she gave me the infamous line: “Eat less, move more.” I nearly laughed. Had she heard anything I’d said? I was eating less. I was moving more. I was already doing all the “right” things, and it wasn’t working. I felt completely defeated. Not to mention dismissed.

That day, after leaving her office with a fresh wave of frustration and sweat, I drove straight to work, turned on the industrial-sized fan at my desk, and seriously considered quitting everything. But somewhere in that moment of exasperation, a tiny voice in my head whispered, What if there’s another way?

So I did what we all do when we're desperate: I turned to Google.

I searched for everything—“how to lose weight during menopause,” “how to stop hot flashes,” “is it possible to survive perimenopause without becoming a hermit?” That’s when I stumbled across intermittent fasting. I had heard of it before, even dabbled with it a bit in my 40s, but I never gave it a real chance. This time, something clicked. I read story after story from other women going through the same thing—weight gain, hot flashes, joint pain, and how fasting had helped reset their systems. I figured, Why not?

So the next day, I started a 20:4 intermittent fasting schedule. I fasted for 20 hours, ate a snack around 4 p.m., had dinner with my husband at 6, and stopped eating by 8. It was rough at first. I had hunger pangs, sure, but I also had hope. On day three, I realized I hadn’t had a single hot flash. Not one. By the end of that week, my joint pain was reduced. My mood stabilized. I wasn’t just surviving—I was starting to feel human again.

I kept going. And week by week, month by month, my body responded. I lost weight—not all 30 pounds in one go, but enough to breathe easier, move easier, dress easier. My clothes fit again. My shoes fit again (yes, my feet had swollen too—who knew that was a thing?). But most importantly, I felt like I had some control back. I wasn’t just spinning on the hamster wheel of “eat less, exercise more.” I had found something that worked for me.

Three years later, I’m still intermittent fasting most days. I don’t do it perfectly. Life happens. But it remains the single most effective tool I’ve used to manage menopause symptoms—and not just hot flashes, but inflammation, fatigue, and brain fog, too. I feel strong. I feel energetic. I feel like me again.

Dear reader, if you’re where I was—sitting in front of a fan, crying in your closet, feeling like you’ve tried everything—please know this: you are not alone. Menopause can feel like a thief, stealing your sleep, your shape, your sense of self. But you don’t have to suffer in silence. There is a way forward.

Maybe intermittent fasting isn’t your path. Maybe it is. But don’t give up. Keep asking questions. Keep trying. You deserve to feel good in your body again.

Sending you cool breezes and warm encouragement from this side of the storm.

To your health,
Jennifer Kaye